Safe From Harm
by 2cents
Summary: Chon and Nina haven't seen each other since high school, until an unexpected event brings them together. They find out that a lot has changed, but some things might have remained the same. Post The Kings of Cool, Pre Savages.
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: All recognizable characters belong to the genius Don Winslow. This story was written purely for fun and entertainment; no infringement was intended, and no profit was made.

Song: 107 Degrees, Citizen Cope

* * *

_Wanted by the minister, wanted by the dean_

_Wanted by the old folks, wanted by the teens_

_Wanted by the dealer, wanted by the fiends_

_Wanted by that girl in them cut cut jeans_

The clock on the reception desk had just hit 7.30 am when Nina walked past it. Well, at least the one that said "Laguna Beach" under it. It sat right in the middle of six others, each one marking the time at a certain part of the globe. As early as it was, the staff was all smiles and good mornings when their boss passed by them with her hurried steps, just to slow down by the corner of the front desk.

"Good morning, everyone. Cynthia? How's everything? How was the night?"

"Good, nothing special. At least so far", the supervisor said with a tired grin.

"All right. Now go home. You were here when I left last night, I know that", Nina stated, walking straight to the restaurant. That was one of the bright sides of owning hotels – the food. She went to her table, at the back corner so that she could keep an eye on everything while eating, and a couple of newspapers were already waiting for her there.

"Gracias, Rafael", she said courteously to the young waiter who served her a rather sizeable cup of coffee.

Nina had just sat back down, with a plate full of fruit slices, a fat free yogurt, juice and just a little more coffee when her phone rang. It was Russell, her assistant.

"I am just about to start having an amazing breakfast, so make it quick, Russ. And good morning, by the way."

"I'm afraid your amazing breakfast will have to wait, boss. It's, uh... another OD."

Russell heard the clink of the coffee cup landing heavily on the saucer, which brought all the attention to Nina. No, everything's ok, she thought, and got herself together with a reassuring grin.

"Which room?", Nina asked, folding back the newspapers and heading out to her office. The coffee could wait. A corpse in one of her hotel rooms could not.

Her high heels moved quietly on the renovated hallway carpet, and all she could hear was her own breathing, rushed by the irritation of having to take care of something that draining on a Sunday morning. Exhaling, she squeezed the hankie in her hand, which she had soaked in rose water before coming up – a trick she had learned after the last time this happened.

The master card key went in and out of the magnetic keyhole and she entered the room, trying to brace herself for the unexpected. You never knew what these junkies would come up with, and Nina tried not to think about the last OD she saw. Russell was right by the door, and as she came in, the wreckage was visible: trashed room, broken mirrors and tables and vases, the side tables still with traces of drug use, a scene that could have come out straight from a Hollywood movie. Only it didn't. At least the guy is fully clothed this time, she thought. It didn't lessen the impact; a dead person is a dead person.

"Oh, por Dios", she sighed, letting her accent leak into the next sentence. "Anyone we know?"

"No, not that I know of. His name is Charles, he checked in last night. I think it's a clear coke OD."

Nina raised an eyebrow at his knowledge on drug-related incidents, which she knew was none. She tried to keep her eyes off of the corpse laying on the super king size bed, and put the hankie to good use by applying it to her own nose. Neither she nor Russell were street-smart, but Nina could bet her four hotels that Russ wouldn't know that there is more than one type of weed. Dead bodies were becoming a very aggravating part of her business; that man was the fourth OD case she had in the past six months. It was enough for her to learn that calling the cops first was not a good strategy: it scared the guests and that was never good. By asking the right questions, Nina found the right people to be contacted upon such events. Calling the last called numbers had been working out great so far. The person comes in, obviously interested in getting the situation resolved as soon as possible, done deal, everybody carries on with their lives. No cops, no worries, guests are happy, all is well.

"Did you find his phone?", she asked, looking around, away from the bed.

Nina's rule of thumb was: if you die in one of her hotels, you forfeit your right to privacy. You don't want her to know who you've been calling, you go die somewhere else. Russell handed her a pair of rubber gloves and an iPhone, as she took off her rings and stashed them into a little pocket in her phone case. Gloves on (stupid but necessary protection), she grabbed the phone, which thankfully wasn't protected with a passcode. Even if it was, 22-year old, Generation Y Russell had a way with that too. She tapped Phone, Recent, and what the... no. It can't be.

A quiet "what?" escaped her lips, and she blinked once, twice, to make sure her brain wasn't playing tricks on her. There was no trick, only a flood of memories that rushed over her just like the waves she disliked so much, and left her just as adrift. It couldn't be a coincidence. That nickname was too damn unique, there couldn't be more than one Chon, at least not in that area. And two minutes ago she thought that dealing with an overdose was as worse as her day could get.

"Nina?"

She responded with a nod which Russell couldn't identify as meaning yes or no. She scrolled down the contact list, found Chon there, hoping there would be more information, but that was about it: nickname and cell phone number, no picture. "It figures", she thought; he never liked taking pictures. In a normal situation, one in which she wouldn't recognize the last number the person called, Nina would leave it at that. She couldn't help it, even though she knew it was a risk. Messages. Chon's name was again on top, and it brought a rather long exchange, but Nina only needed to look at the most recent ones.

_Chonny-man, u got some of that primo grass? I'm at Las Lilas, can u drop by?_

_Chon boy pick up man. I need 2 mellow out cmon_

Primo grass. Mellow out. Overdose. Those words should add up to meaning something, yet they didn't. They didn't mean anything because Nina refused to connect the dots, even though the picture was laid out in front of her. He wouldn't. He couldn't.

"Nina, what is it?", Russell asked her again, snapping her out of her thoughts.

"Here", she said under her breath, handing him the phone and trying her best to keep her voice steady. "Call the most recent number. Whoever picks it up, you tell them you want to speak to John McAlister Junior. Got it?"

The assistant looked confused. Nina usually handled that kind of situation, but he did notice her hand shaking slightly as she gave him the device.

"Are you sure you want me to do this? I mean, you..."

"Just do it, Rus", she said on her way to the door. "Call me again when he arrives, and tell him to hurry up."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Chon didn't sleep much, but whenever he did, you didn't wake him up. Or you did, if you didn't know better. A phone call at 8am on a Sunday was definitely from someone who didn't know better.

He jumped up from the bed he didn't recognize at first, then looked around and saw a non-specific, non-brunette, non-brained trophy wife squirming under the sheets. Yeah, she looked better with dim lights. The vibrating sound kept on going and he looked at his phone, "Dense calling" flashing on the screen, reminding him why he woke up in the first place. Chon picked it up and headed to the bathroom. He'd probably skip the room service, but never – ever – the shower.

"Do you know what time it is, Dense? What the fuck you want now?", he growled, his harsh voice even harsher in the morning, checking his reflection in the mirror and thinking he should ask O to come by and cut his hair. He could cut it himself, but her haircuts always came with interesting benefits.

"Is this Mr. John McAlister Junior?"

The voice didn't sound like he expected it to, and it was enough for Chon to wake up for once and pay attention. He made a mental list of the people who a) had his phone number, b) knew his full name, and c) would call him from Dense's phone. No matches found for that search criteria.

"Keep talking", he answered bluntly, his mind already in full throttle thinking about what could have gone wrong now. That list was unfortunately long.

On the other side, Russell cleared his throat and made his best effort to sound imposing.

"Your friend Charles Ducau decided to, uh, die in our hotel, which we don't appreciate. Since you're the last person he called, we kindly ask you to come over to Las Lilas hotel and... take care of it, please", he said, thankful that Nina wasn't around to see his ridiculous attempt, and praying to all gods that it would work. It had to, otherwise he'd be left to deal with the dead dude, and that was definitely not a part of his plans for that Sunday.

Chon considered the possibility that this could be a trap, but he knew how fucked up Dense was and if he od'ed, Chon wouldn't be surprised. He didn't like that it turned out to be something he had to deal with, though.

"Police?"

"We didn't call them. It's not good for the business."

It made sense. And if they were lying, Chon would know it the moment he got closer to the hotel, and he could drive away as if nothing happened.

"I'll be there in 20", he stated, and turned the shower on, hoping that... Brittany? Emily? Well, hoping that the trophy-wife wouldn't wake up. Not that it mattered, it just made it easier. If she woke up, he would have to remember her name, which would be tough and let's face it, he wasn't willing to try that hard; and then he would have to listen to more of her rambling about how she wanted to get another boob job but her husband wouldn't pay for it. Yeah, that was not going to happen. Please, Tiffany, please be sleeping when I leave.

Russell exhaled deeply, leaning against the door. He looked down and picked up Nina's hankie. Yep, roses were definitely better than putrefaction.

Meanwhile, Nina got into a vacant room, down the hall from where Russel was, still incredulous. Well, it wasn't that hard to believe, she pondered. It's Laguna Beach, it's a small town, so the strange thing was really that they hadn't bumped into each other before during the past decade, even though she spent a few years away and God knows what he was up to. Still, it was him, it was

"Chon", she said his name for the first time in many years, with no one but her memories to listen to it. She threw out the gloves, washed her hands, undid her ponytail, ran her hands through her hair, and put it up again. She leaned on the sink for a couple of minutes as she struggled to make something make sense, but nothing did. The fact that there was a dead man in one of her hotels whose last call had been to Chon, the fact that she was that affected by the idea of seeing him again. Her plan to block him out had been successful until that very moment, when it sank in that it might have been over a decade, but it still stung like it was yesterday.

"It's nothing. It's not him", she said out loud, and repeated it once, twice, in a failed attempt to convince herself of that. During the third time, her phone rang.

"He's here."

With a deep breath, she opened the door to the room where he was supposed to be and almost sighed in relief. There was a man standing, facing away from her, all dressed in black: black t-shirt, dark washed jeans, black boots, and no, he couldn't possibly be Chon. He was taller than she remembered, and the hair... his hair was short, close-cropped. Definitely not him. Still, Nina found herself calling his name.

"Chon?"

She stood still, frozen on her feet, and watched as his head moved slowly to his right, showing that profile she knew so well. The straight nose, the full lips, the ever-squinting eyes, the sideways look... and two horrible scars that were new to her, one on the side of his face, and one on his neck.

"Nina?"


	2. Chapter 2

DISCLAIMER: All recognizable characters belong to the genius Don Winslow. This story was written purely for fun and entertainment; no infringement was intended, and no profit was made.

Song: Blood On My Hands, The Used

* * *

_straight from your eyes, it's barely me_

_beautifully so disfigured_

_this other side that you can't see_

_just praying you won't remember_

Chon felt his head spinning like a slot machine, memories revolving in his brain at the speed of light. The pieces of the past started falling into place. First slot, 1998. Second slot, the girl who loved speed. Third slot, castanets and twelve string guitars. Jackpot: Carolina Zamora.

What are the fucking odds.

Time had been good for her, Chon thought while perusing her from head to toe, but not like he did with his OC divorcees and wives and mommies. He simply wanted to recognize her. She looked even taller with tan crocodile pumps, and he followed her long legs up to a beige pencil skirt, a white satin halter top that looked like it had just been pressed; a set of pearl earrings and her long, auburn straight hair pulled up in a neat ponytail. Yes, she had a little make up on, but Chon knew she didn't need it. She never did.

It took Nina a little longer to recognize him. The last time she saw him, he had long hair, and now it was extremely short, so much that it felt like his features changed. It fit him either way, she thought; at least his eyes weren't hiding behind disheveled bangs anymore. It did explain, at least, partially, the reason why Nina never saw him around Laguna; she would never even consider seeing him as a guy with close-cropped hair. His stare was direct, as it had always been, but it was somewhat fiercer, and it scared and teased her at the same time, exactly like it did when they first met. Chon had dark circles under his eyes and, all in all, looked like he had slept in the clothes he was wearing, which prompted her first comment.

"You look like last night."

He didn't shift his gaze; merely squinted his eyes a little.

"You look... great."

The rosy tone on her cheeks wasn't because of the make-up she was wearing. Nina wriggled her hands together as the tension became heavier, only to be broken by Russell clearing his throat before putting out a reminder of the reason they were there.

"So, uh... dead guy over here?"

"Right", Chon said, turning back to the bed. "I need to make a couple of phone calls."

He and Nina exchanged one brief glance before he disappeared through the curtains, on to the balcony.

"Stop looking at me, Russ", Nina said, staring blankly ahead.

"What was that all about?"

"What was what all about?"

"Are you kidding me? The way he was looking at you?"

"One more word and I swear I'll fire you right here, right now."

"I can't... you're not gonna fire me, you can't do that."

"I can and I will unless you shut the hell up", she said as calmly as she could manage to be, catching small glimpses of Chon through the sheer curtains, walking back and forth. Nina always said that if there was a God, he had a twisted sense of humor; her mother was never too pleased to hear her daughter talking about God like that, but even she would agree with it right now. "How about this," Nina thought, "my mother would freak out so bad if she knew that I met him."

"Great, now you're smiling", Russell said, pacing around the room. "How do you two know each other? May I know that much, at least?"

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx XxX

It had been ten minutes since Nina had parked her motorcycle and she was still sitting on it, helmet off, watching as the students made their way into the building. Laguna Beach High School. It wasn't her first time there – she had come with her mother a few weeks earlier to take care of her transfer, and the last time she came out with her class schedule and a voluntary tutoring assignment for students who hadn't had good grades in Spanish the previous year. The school counselor thought it would be a great way for Nina to socialize, Olivia agreed, and by then Nina had already accepted that her opinion wasn't really important. Only two months before that she had been yanked from her Spanish roots and spat out on the west coast of the United States, all of that because her father had the brilliant idea of buying two more hotels there, under the premise that they would be more luxurious and therefore more profitable, plus Nina would get a better education. She didn't buy that last bit.

The first day at school was Nina's first major social event on American soil; she had spent the last couple of weeks basically trying not to go crazy being home with her mother all day long, obsessing over bed linens and the gardens and her china sets. At least her grandpa was there as well, to drag Nina away from Olivia once in a while and tell her stories that she had heard a thousand times; still, she never got tired of them. It's not like she had much choice: she didn't know the city that well, she didn't really know anyone and her neighbors hadn't even bothered to show up and introduce themselves. Yes, the beach was breathtakingly beautiful, so what? That doesn't make any difference unless you can enjoy it – and you can't really do that alone.

Time was running out and Nina knew that was it. That was the hand she was dealt, so let's get this over with, she thought, finally hopping off the bike and heading out to the unknown world of Laguna High.

After two steps in, Nina realized that trying to blend in would be a futile effort; she wouldn't blend in, not then, not ever. In the boiling heat of October, the girls were all tan and had that shiny, sun-burnt golden tone in their hair; they were parading their perfectly white smiles framed in their perfectly glossed up lips. Of course, they all knew each other from the previous school year, so all the cliques were already there, waiting for an opportunity to shun a clear cut outsider like her. Because she was as much as an outsider could be in Laguna Beach, or in California for that matter. Nina felt like she was at least half feet taller than all the other girls; she was lean like them, but in a different, less balanced way. Her crumpled auburn hair wasn't as light, her skin not as bronzed, her lips not as full as theirs. Even if some of them tried to talk to her, what would they talk about? What could they possibly have in common? And why was she even considering befriending the girls first, when the best friends she had left in Spain were boys? Blame my father for that, she thought; he completely overlooked the fact that he hadn't been able to provide a Y chromosome and raised Nina as he would raise a son... well, as much as her mother and grandmother allowed him to anyway. Now Nina could almost hear her mother telling her to stand up straight, and surprisingly enough, she obeyed to that mental instruction: straightened up and kept on walking towards the classroom, trying and failing to ignore the sideways looks that were obviously directed at her.

The class wasn't big – about fifteen students were already hanging around, telling each other summer stories, talking fast in an accent she still wasn't used to, their vocabulary filled with local slangs. Nina spotted one empty desk, perfectly placed in the middle of the classroom, and made her way up to there. In silence, she sat down and put her pencil case and notebooks on the desk; the chatter became more like a whisper and that's when she knew people were talking about her. She looked around for the first time, trying to find something or someone worthy of attention, but all she could see were their backs, caught up with themselves as they were. Her quick observation exercise was interrupted by their teacher coming in.

"Good morning, class. Can you all please take your seats?"

The teacher tried to introduce herself in between murmurs, as the students reluctantly broke their groups and sat down; she said her name was Mrs. Edwards, that some of them already knew her, and they would be talking about US history, apparently first school days weren't that different in Spain and in the US... and the teachers seemed to have the same lack of touch when it came to putting students in the spotlight when all they want to do is be invisible.

"I understand that we have a foreign student among us this year", she said, and Nina felt her face burning up, praying that the teacher wouldn't ask her to stand up and answer all kinds of weird questions. Mrs. Edwards looked down at the attendance list.

"Carolina Zamora."

Nina pursed her lips and looked intently at her desk, hoping that would be it. Yes, that's my name, let's move forward. But no, of course not.

"Carolina, would you mind telling us where you're from?"

"I'm from Sevilla", she said, her voice louder and firmer than she expected it to be.

"And how far is that from the border?", a boy asked. For some reason Nina couldn't yet understand, part of the class found that question funny.

"What border?"

"You know, the Mexican border. Rio Grande..."

"Oh", Nina said, nodding and looking at the kid who was now full of himself, boosted by the laughter his comment got. "I get it. How about an ocean?"

He frowned as Nina stared him down. Mrs. Edwards was apparently amused by the exchange and crossed her arms. The giggles died and Nina heard a rasping, unusually low voice coming from behind her.

"Seville is in Spain... dumbass."

Mrs. Edwards wrapped it up so that she could keep on with her class.

"Thanks, McAlister. Well, Carolina, welcome to Laguna High."

McAlister. Nina turned around to see who he was, and caught a glimpse of greenish eyes, shifting behind unkempt strands of long brown hair. Those eyes, although they were avoiding hers, were definitely worth of attention. She nodded in appreciation of his slightly bad-mannered but accurate contribution, and in getting no response from him, she turned back to the teacher.

At lunch, Nina stood there alone with her tray, looking at the cafeteria and wondering where she could sit and not feel like an alien. That wasn't likely to happen any time soon, but her best bet were the tables in the back. The fact that the McAlister boy was there, sitting at a table all by himself might have had something to do with her decision – a loner can recognize another. She didn't dare to sit in front of him, though; she skipped a couple of seats, sat down and stared at her food for a moment.

"What's wrong, Spaniard? Don't like the food?"

Nina smiled and looked his way before returning the joke.

"There's nothing wrong, American. It will take me a while to get used to it, that's all."

"What's your name?", she asked after a couple of bites. He looked at her for a moment.

"It's Chon."

"You mean... John, right?"

"No, I mean Chon. C-H-O-N."

"I can spell", she snapped back, unable to hide her contempt.

"And how did you learn how to spell in English?"

"My mother is Welsh. I mean, she's from-"

"Wales. I don't know if you noticed, but I actually know where the countries are."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx XxX

"High school... that's great. You know, he gives me the creeps."

"Grasshoppers give you the creeps, Russell."

"That was not cool, boss."

"Just... stop talking, will you?"

"I'm nervous, all right? There's a dead guy here and you're acting like-"

Russell swallowed his next sentence as Chon came back into the room. There was a guy who, despite having his morning face on, looked like he was ready to headbutt someone if his coffee wasn't strong enough.

"It's all taken care of. There will be a van coming up in about 30 minutes, a pest control company. You just let them in, they will come with a closed cart and take him away."

"Take him away? To where?", Russell asked, perplexed. The man was so cool and collected that he sounded like he was taking away a vase, or a laundry basket. Chon looked at him and didn't answer. Instead, he shifted his intent gaze back to Nina.

"Russ, why don't you go downstairs and let Joe know about that van coming in?"

The assistant didn't move an inch, neither did she.

"If you could do that before lunch, I'd appreciate it."

"All right. Well... call me if you need anything. Anything", he repeated on his way out, as if Nina would really need something from him after meeting up with that charismatic acquaintance. She turned back to Chon as soon as Russell closed the door behind him.

"I take it as you didn't have breakfast yet", she said with a juvenile smirk that made him feel lighter. Unintentionally, he had made the right decision when he skipped room service earlier that morning.

"Since I dragged you here at 8am on a Sunday... breakfast is on me."


	3. Chapter 3

DISCLAIMER: All recognizable characters belong to the genius Don Winslow. This story was written purely for fun and entertainment; no infringement was intended, and no profit was made.

Song: Love Is Not Enough, Nine Inch Nails

* * *

_in your eyes is a place_

_worth remembering_

The muted sound of unspecific chatter and the clanking of cutlery and porcelain was all that Nina could hear. Chon had been sitting in front of her for the past couple of minutes and hadn't moved an inch, narrowing his eyes at the view – the restaurant had floor-to-ceiling glass panels so that the guests could enjoy Laguna's best scene: blue skies merging with the blue sea, only an intangible line separating them. Nina's stomach reminded her that she'd had to leave her breakfast to solve that tiny mishap, and it wasn't going to wait much longer without complaining. Nina waved at one of the waiters.

"Hola Poncho, como estás?"

Chon didn't move, but Nina caught his lips curling in a smirk. The waiter replied and they had a quick chat in Spanish before Nina started to order.

"I'm gonna have the usual. And..."

She stared intently at Chon for a moment before the words fell from her lips.

"Black coffee, hash browns, scrambled eggs, bacon. Orange juice with lots of ice. Short stack of pancakes. Did I miss something?"

He turned his head slowly, fighting back a smile. She remembered every single thing.

"I think you got it all."

"Eso es todo.", she told the waiter. "y rapido, porfa."

The young man left with a smile on his face, and Chon thought it was only fair – if he had a boss that looked half as good, and spoke as kindly as she did, he'd be a happy waiter too.

"I thought this was a buffet sort of thing", he said, looking around.

"Perks of being the owner", Lisa replied and his eyes went straight back to the turquoise horizon. The weight of their silence reminded Nina of how hard it was to start up a conversation with Chon, it had always been. On her first day of school, hadn't he asked her about the food, she wasn't sure if she would ever say a word; a big, bright "fuck off" sign was plastered on his forehead and he only took it off on special occasions. It's not like she was that talkative back then, but her job demanded small talk skills; his apparently didn't.

"John", she called him softly. He finally turned around to meet her vibrant brown eyes, framed in long dark lashes, representing a time in his life that he struggled to forget and hide, a time in his life when he was weak and got hurt, and Chon doesn't get hurt. Not anymore. But he should have known better than to pretend he didn't recognize Nina's family in her eyes. The warmth and kindness came from her mother; the glint and vivacity, from her father. Chon felt the memories starting to run down the tap and shut his eyes to shut it down; his chest, however, was still a bit tight because her presence forced him to acknowledge that there was true good in this world. Nina embodied it. Not that dull, hypocrite goodness; her honesty was straightforward, selfless and often spiced up with her short temper.

"What the hell happened to your hair?"

It wasn't small talk, she really wanted to know. His long hair gave him a touch of softness that balanced the austerity of his expressions and words. Maybe it was naïve, but it sugarcoated him; Nina never believed that he was as vicious and brutal as everybody said he was anyway. Now that the long brown strands were gone, the hurt and anger were blatantly showing on his face, with nothing to frame it or hide it. To make matters worse, the right side of his face and neck was branded with three big, nasty scars.

"Joined the Navy", he stated, matter-of-factly.

"Well, that kinda explains it", she replied without giving it much thought. It did explain a few things: the hair (or lack thereof), the scars (the visible and the invisible ones), the absolute lack of affection in his eyes. She reconsidered her answer, knowing that there was a lot left unexplained. "What happened to you?", she wondered with a frown, examining his reluctant face. Chon turned back to look at her, returning the question.

"What the hell happened to your accent?"

Nina shook her head, tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She was fully aware of how dumb that answer would sound to him.

"Got a dialect coach."

"You can't be serious."

"I'm afraid I am", she said, not really sure of why she was embarrassed. "Look, I didn't have a choice here. You know how that turned out in high school. Americans thought I was Mexican and shunned me; Mexicans knew I wasn't Mexican and shunned me as well. That just wouldn't cut in this business."

"Doesn't cut in any business", he concluded, as their very Mexican waiter did as his boss had ordered and brought their breakfast in a hurry, filling their table with plates and glasses and cups and food. "Still, it's ridiculous. Come on."

"Oh, it gets worse", she said with a genuine grin, fishing for a business card in her phone case. She felt the rings she had put there earlier, when she had to wear those dreary rubber gloves, and poured them over the table before putting them back on. His eyes fell to her hands and he couldn't help but notice the massive diamond ring that went straight to her ring finger on her right hand, the same had that handed him her card. He picked it up and scrutinized it for a second before reacting the way Nina knew he would – with a scowl.

"Carolina Powell?", he half-asked, half-wondered, his mind assuming the obvious. Nina jumped in before he could settle on a conclusion or dropped the coffee cup that he was holding absentmindedly, or both.

"It's my mother's maiden name. Figured that hiring a dialect coach wouldn't help if I kept the Zamora in there."

He chuckled, munching on his hash browns.

"Your father must be _pissed_."

"Not really", Nina said, smirking. "He knows how hard it is for a Spanish-speaking woman to be taken seriously around here, and since he's pretty much the only reason I'm in this business anyway, he wasn't even entitled to be pissed."

He raised an eyebrow and downed half a glass of juice. No small sips for Chon.

"You have a point."

The card lay in front of him and he stared at it for a moment. There wasn't really that much information in it, and Nina wondered what he was looking for.

"Director, huh?"

"Yeah", she replied with a sigh. She was actually the owner and took that word rather seriously. Responsible for every single thing that happened in four hotels, from the glasses they were drinking from, to staff, to... dead bodies, apparently. To this day, Nina didn't know whether she really had what it takes to run such a large business, or her father had convinced her that she did. Either way, she was making money out of all the properties and really couldn't complain. But it was Sunday morning. The sun was already burning bright outside, and even though she didn't like the beach as much as the majority of the Laguna residents, that was the kind of day that made her wish she didn't have to work. Lost in her thoughts, Nina rested her head in her hand and allowed herself to also get lost in his eyes. Just for a little while.

"Following your father's footsteps, I see", he stated, and saw the tenderness flee from her dreamy eyes. Nina didn't look away, although she knew damn well that no one could win a stare down with Chon, ever. She stared long and hard at him before striking back with a calculated question; one she wished she could avoid asking, because it hurt to do it.

"I'm not the only one doing that, am I Chon?"

Her question didn't surprise him, and Nina didn't expect it to. Chon had people fooled into thinking that he didn't react to things like everyone else simply because he lacked feelings altogether, but that was far from the truth. Behind that state of apparent apathy, lay years and years of arduous practice. Tears that were bitterly swallowed, smiles that were crushed before they could reach his lips, affection that was suppressed before could turn into a hug. He fought them all back, diligently. Chon had learned the hard way that his father was right: he should have never trusted anyone, ever, in his life. The few times he was dumb enough to trust people, he was let down. Nina wasn't different.

It all came down to choosing between building a wall to make people bounce back and never really get to know who he was, or letting people in and getting hurt as a result. It isn't hard to guess why he chose the former, and he excelled at shutting people off. Nina's last question, for instance, bounced right off the "wall of Chon" and fell flat to the ground, unanswered, his only reaction being shaking his head while cutting through the stack of pancakes.

"I know what you're thinking", she said, after finishing up her yogurt.

"Dead men don't talk."

"Right, but their cell phones do."

"You went through his phone?", he asked her, fork suspended mid-air between his mouth and his plate.

"I don't think you're morally qualified to question what I did", she stated calmly, "especially when you could have saved a life if you had only helped your friend to 'mellow out' last night."

He snorted.

"All right, first of all, not friend, customer. Second of all, save him? Really? What these fuckers decide to do with our product is none of my business, Nina."

She waved him off dismissively.

"I don't wanna know Chon, seriously", Nina said in a low voice. "If this shit ever tracks back to me, I don't want to have to lie."

His eyes went wide as he took a sip of his coffee.

"Yeah, that wouldn't work, since you're a lame ass liar. But you don't have to worry about it, we've been paying up the right people for a long time now."

He fell back on his chair, and Nina fumed for a lot of reasons. There was a "we", there was "paying up people", and there was "long time", all in the same sentence. Add to that an overdose, a dead person and a pest control van, and Nina's stomach wasn't too happy about that conversation. She downed her tea to help the contents of the breakfast settle down.

"What?", he inquired, tossing his napkin on the empty plate.

"I always knew you could end up in a job where you had to hurt people. You're too good at it, always was."

"Well, what can I say? I had good teachers", he replied right off the bat, leaving Nina speechless. Yes, she knew. Chon thought that she was one of those teachers. A long pause fell between them as they both stared out the window, only to avoid having to face the truth by looking at each other.

"So... who is he?", he popped out.

"Who's who?", she retorted, although she knew what he wanted to know. She just didn't feel like answering it.

"The man who gave you that ring."

Nina looked away as she couldn't possibly face him. "You don't know him."

"This might surprise you, but I do know a whole lot of people in this place."

"You know Chon, you and I, we don't exactly run in the same circles", Nina snapped. He crossed his arms defiantly, a cocky grin on his lips, and shook his head.

"Don't be naive, babe."

That simple four-letter word used to be his refuge for whenever he wanted to make up for something he had done or, on rare occasions, when he really meant to call her that. This time, it was neither of those. It carried such irony that it made Nina wish she hadn't heard it.

"His name is Vince", she said, and watched for a moment as the gears in his brain worked on that information, searching for all the Vinces he knew, unable to settle for one who could be her fiance. No matches found. Hell, his name could be James or Michael, and Chon still wouldn't find a man who was good enough to marry her.

"Vince Clift", she completed, and then the piece fell into place.

"Clift and Associates. Lawyer. Really?", he asked, tilting his head to the side. Nina nodded as Chon gazed at her, and she was sure that he was thinking of all the flaws he could find in Vince. They were probably the same flaws that Nina saw in him as well, but that was something she wouldn't even confess to herself. Finally, he let out a short laugh.

"This is so fucked up."

"How, exactly?"

Chon leaned closer, over the table.

"You're... you're the girl from Seville, all right? Right now, I'm staring at this fucking card that has someone else's name on it, and you sound like you're from fucking Iowa or something. That's how this is fucked up. You're..."

He trailed off, but the sentence continued in his head. _Mine._

It took her a few moments to take that in. This was classic Chon – holding it all up and then suddenly spilling out his precious words on a rant.

"Well, it's not like you're the exact same person you were fourteen years ago, is it?"

"We're talking about you here."

"Chon..."

Nina shifted in her chair and looked at him, looking at her. Her mind got distracted for a moment and there she was, counting the freckles on his face again. Like she would really forget that he had something between 14 and 18 freckles, depending on how long it took before she gave up counting and gave in to a kiss. She lowered her eyes to his hands, clutched together on the table, inches away from hers; she moved her hands half an inch, before deciding that one touch was one too many, and settling for an honest, non-ironic answer.

"All this... the name, the accent, the fancy card, it's just a facade", she said, the tone of her voice soft and low. "You know how this town works. It's a matter of survival, of carrying on four hotels by myself, making ends meet."

"Is being engaged part of that facade too, Nina?"

Point blank, no mercy, just like that. The rudeness of the question made Nina lean back on the chair with a mortified smile, her eyes down to her lap where she kept turning her engagement ring around her finger. The time it took her to come up with an answer showed both of them how unsure she was about that. Chon loved to ask trick questions and watch, amused, as people struggled to find a way out, but not this time. Seeing Nina with her head low, wordless, was almost painful. She finally leveled her eyes with his.

"It's not."

A smug smirk crossed his face and Nina felt like choking him.

"See? Lame ass liar."

His smile faded as blood rushed to her face and the chatter from the other tables covered for everything they weren't saying to each other. Chon always had a penchant for being cynical, but now everything about him – the way he crossed his arms, the snicker on his lips, the inflection of his words – was so caustic that it burned every good intention Nina had when she invited him for breakfast. There was just one last thing Nina needed to ask him before their meal was over. Only it didn't came out as a question.

"The scars."

He stared at the table for a while, as if staring at the memories that led up to that answer, and Nina started to regret having said anything. He said he had joined the Navy, of course the story wasn't going to be "I woke up one morning and hit my head against the bunk bed above me." Her words hung in the air as he came up with a classic, Chon-like monosyllabic answer.

"Stan."

Stan, Nina repeated in her head a couple of times until it made sense. Afghani... stan. Paki... stan. Death. Sand. Heat. Scars. It was all there, in his eyes, and that was when Nina stopped looking for something familiar in him and reached a sad conclusion: John McAlister, as she knew him, was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

DISCLAIMER: All recognizable characters belong to the genius Don Winslow. This story was written purely for fun and entertainment; no infringement was intended, and no profit was made.

Song: Nothing Left To Say But Goodbye, Audioslave

* * *

_just like a rescue of a stray dog in the rain_

_I was hungry when you found me_

_and you could tell by my tail and my rib cage_

_what was once around me_

They were done eating, but their conversation was far from being over; Nina had been silent while wondering what happened with him. She didn't ask, though, as she felt it was not the right time. They had just met and she knew Chon well enough to know that he wasn't about to spill out the last years over breakfast. She thought about ambushes and trenches and landmines and everything that could have gone wrong but it didn't because he was right there in front of her, bruised, but whole; the quiet buzz of her phone snapped her out of her thoughts and she shot it a glance before picking it up.

"Allo, Nicolas. Ca va?"

Chon watched as she carried on a conversation in French, and even though he didn't understand what was being said, he knew by the tone of her voice that she wasn't too happy about it. Moments later, she hung up with a sigh, fingers tapping on the phone screen.

"These girls are unbelievable, it's like they're doing me a favor of working for me. I'm this close to hiring a male hostess."

"Only it would be a host."

Nina rolled her eyes at him. _You don't say._ He changed subjects.

"So, I guess going to France really paid off."

"Yes, it did", she replied, without giving it too much thought about why he made that remark. Bringing that up wouldn't do any good and they had managed to keep their bitterness under control until then. "This will only take a second", she said, making another call, one finger held up in the air.

"Russ? It's me. Look, I need you to call Jean and tell her that I know it's her night off, but I really need her at La Roja tonight. Eva just called Nicolas to tell she's quitting... yeah I know. Oh good. Perfect. Ok, talk to you later. Thanks."

She put the phone down as a waiter took away their empty plates.

"Russell told me that the van just left. So it's over."

He snickered.

"La Roja? Seriously? You named a restaurant that?"

"Well yeah", she replied with a grin. "She deserved it."

"She sure did. Do you still have it?"

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx XxX

Nina stood there at the gym entrance for a moment, her eyes scanning through the bleachers, trying to find Michele amidst the loud crowd. "So this 'pep rally' thing is quite the event", she thought. She finally spotted a hand waving at her and a face hidden under bright ginger hair, and climbed up to meet her friend.

"What did I miss?"

"Nothing", Michele said, her voice straining to overcome the noise, not taking her eyes off the court, "they haven't showed up yet."

"All right", Nina said under her breath. The place was packed and she soon found herself clapping slowly to the music, to try and get into the mood. A couple of minutes later, a voice boomed through the speakers, announcing the football team, and Michele screamed so high Nina thought she might had gone a little deaf.

"Look look look", she jumped up and down, pointing at the team coming up to the small stage they had set up on the court. "There he is, number 6!"

For the past ten days Nina had been alternating between having lunch with Michele and listening to her talk about her platonic feelings for the quarterback; and with Chon, when they spent more time in silence than talking to each other. But she enjoyed Michele's company; Nina was aware that she had approached her because the "cool" girls thought Michele was weird and Nina was in no position of rejecting new friends. That was all right with her, though. Michele turned out to be a slightly crazy, upbeat girl who was unlucky enough to be in love with the single most popular guy in the school. It was a good fit for Nina, since she was growing more and more interested in Chon, who was close to being the least popular.

The crowd cheered them up for quite some time; her quarterback smiled and waved, and Michele smiled and waved back but he didn't notice - half the girls were doing the same.

"Is that it?", Nina asked after they left the stage.

"No", she replied with a grin. "Just wait."

"Come on Mich, I'm hungry!"

Her lips moved but Nina couldn't hear her over the presenter.

"And last but not least, here comes our stellar volleyball team! Give it up... for... the Breakers!"

The crowd went wild. Nina thought football was the most popular sport around, but this volleyball team seemed to be worshipped. A dozen players came in to stand on the stage, in sleeveless white jerseys, and she was taking a good look at some of them when she recognized a familiar head of hair. She smiled big and Michele winked at her.

"I told you to wait!"

Chon wasn't that amused by all the cheering, and managed to keep his everyday face as the others waved at the bleachers. Nina clapped and yelled his name, but he was looking the other way; that was when she took her fingers to her lips and blew a whistle. The only problem was that the cheering was already fading, the whistle came out really loud and he had no problem tracking it back to where she was standing, her cheeks burning. Nina threw her hands up and mouthed "sorry"; he shook his head and she could swear she saw a hint of a smile.

"I didn't know he played volleyball."

"He's a spiker and he's really, really good. He has one hell of a right arm."

"I can see that much", Nina said, laughing, her eyes still on him as the team left the gym. "Can we go now?"

"Did you forget about the taco eating contest?"

"Oh god. Why do we need to stay for that?"

"Because... Gabriel is in it."

Nina rolled her eyes with a sigh. People were already bringing in carts with food and Michele wasn't going anywhere until number six was stuffed with tacos.

"All right", she said, picking up her helmet. "I'll wait for you outside, I'm way too hungry to watch people eating like there's no tomorrow."

"If Chon was competing you'd stay!", she heard Michele yell on her way down, and raised a hand with a thumb up.

Nina walked around outside the gym not really knowing where to go, just waiting for the muted cheering to be over so that they could go and grab a bite. She had run for half an hour, took a shower and came over to meet Michele; so eating something soon became a critical priority. She was thinking about the dinner she had dismissed at home when something caught her attention; she looked to her right, to a kind of alley that led to the locker rooms and there was someone in there, leaning against the wall, smoking.

"If you're going to join the eating contest, this is the equivalent of cheating", she said, wrinkling her nose at the smell. Chon wasn't surprised to get caught, even though he was smoking a joint in a school, of all places. He simply extended his arm towards her, and Nina waved him off.

"Thanks, but no thanks."

It was dark, but there was a small lamp lit above a door and the light hit him just enough for her to see the outline of his features, one foot up against the wall, the curve of his bare arm, his nose so straight it looked like it was drawn with a set square. A thick white smoke came out of his lips and she wondered why girls weren't lining up to be with him: he was cool and he knew it, but he simply didn't care.

"Ever tried?", he asked, his voice low and husky.

"Yeah."

"What's the matter then? Don't like breaking the rules, Spaniard?", he teased, giving her a sideways glance.

"I have no problems with breaking the rules when it's worth it, and I just don't think this is."

"Why not? This dope is pretty good."

Nina took a deep breath and came closer to where he was, hoping her answer wouldn't sound as dorky as it did in her head.

"I'm not into making fake memories. I like to experience things the way they happen. I want to remember people the way they are."

The look he shot her spoke volumes. Basically, it said, loud and clear, fuck you. Fuck you and your perfect TV-commercial memories. Because when all you have are shitty memories and the people you have in your life are worthless, you'd want to change that if you could. So don't stay there telling me I can't make my own memories.

Nina shoved a hand in her pocket and pursed her lips together, feeling a bit guilty about having judged him even if she didn't mean to. Thankfully, he changed subjects.

"That was one hell of a whistle you blew there", he said, putting the joint off on the wall and placing what was left of it in an Altoid tin he pulled out of his pocket. She chuckled and looked back at him.

"My father taught me when I was little. It's a very useful skill, you know."

He stared back at her, from behind the loose strands of hair that fell on his face, narrowing his catlike eyes and finally breaking down with a laugh.

"It's really not."

"It got your attention, didn't it?", she asked, waiting for his reaction. He nodded and followed her movements as her arm started to tire and she put her helmet on the ground.

"You ride a bike?"

"No, I just like to walk around carrying a helmet."

"You're kidding."

"What's the big deal?", she shrugged.

"You're... a girl", he said, moving away from the wall and standing in front of her, hooking his fingers in his belt loops.

"Oh I'm sorry. When they said I needed to have balls to ride a bike, I thought they were figuratively speaking."

He tilted his head and Nina knew that he was doubting her.

"Wanna see it?"

"Absolutely."

He followed Nina to the parking lot and she was sure he was waiting for a small bike, given the look in his eyes when she stopped where her bike was parked.

"Holy fuck!"

"She's beautiful, isn't she?", Nina said, with a satisfied smile. It was a red Honda CB500; she hadn't paid for it, obviously, but she was very proud she could drive it. Chon spent some time walking around it, checking the handles, the tires, the panel.

"Must be real fast."

"Got her to ninety last week on PCH. Don't tell my mother", Nina whispered, passing by him. He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at her.

"You know, I think I'll tell her... unless you let me test drive it."

She burst out a laugh at his unreasonable request, but he kept on.

"I'm serious. You're gonna be in trouble when Mrs. Spaniard hears that her precious daughter is speeding up with her 500cc bike, risking her life on the highway."

"You know", she said in between chuckles, "I hate to break it to you, but I don't need your help to get in trouble with my mother, I can do that all by myself thank you very much. And that's not gonna happen, sorry. I barely know you, how can I trust you to ride her?"

He leaned back on the bike and Nina did the same, leaning by his side.

"We can work it out. Let's see... I'm John McAlister Junior, I'm 17 years old and I've lived in Laguna all my life."

There was a deliberate pause as he considered how much information he was willing to share in exchange for a test drive.

"I hate having to go to school even though I like to know stuff. I love playing volleyball but I'm a terrible team player. I like guns, cars and bikes. There you go."

She shook her head, feigning disappointment.

"You can do better than that", she said, digging the idea of getting to know more about him without being nosy. And if he didn't feel comfortable about it, he could just stop talking. She nudged his shoulder; their arms touched for a moment and neither of them seemed to mind.

"Surprise me."

He looked at her from the corner of his eyes.

"I... I live in a trailer by myself and if I don't get a job in a week or two, I'm gonna be sleeping in my car."

Her reaction was a simple "oh" as she realized just how very lonely that boy was, not only at school, but outside as well. No wonder he was so moody and didn't really want anyone to be around him; what he had said sounded like a confession and Nina treated it as such – she heard it and forgot about it, at least for a while.

"Yeah. So do I deserve a test drive now?"

"I don't know. What if you crash her?"

"That's not gonna happen. I'm an excellent driver."

"I bet you are, but... La Roja needs to trust you first, Chon", Nina said, patting the bench.

"La what?"

"La Roja. It means the red one."

"The bike has a name. You're something else, Spaniard."

"The bike is not the only one that has a name, you know."

"I know, but Carolina is boring. Like John. Boring."

"You can call me Nina... I mean, if you want."

"Nina", Chon repeated, staring blankly ahead. There was a fleeting silence and her stomach growled, prompting both of them to laugh.

"What did _you_ smoke?", he asked her, with a winning smile.

"Nothing! I just ran for a while before I came here, and I should have had dinner at home but I was running late and now I'm starving."

"Me too."

"Figures", she scoffed, raising her brows.

"You wanna...?", they asked at the same time, talking over each other.

"Sure, just let me go back in there and tell Michele I'm leaving", Nina said, moving away from him. She stopped as his fingers trailed down her forearm and got entwined in hers, in an awkward move. Her eyes widened as she looked back at him, unable to hide her surprise. She stared at their hands for a moment before meeting his gaze again. He let go of her hand and cleared his throat.

"I'll wait here."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx XxX

"Yeah, I sold her."

"That's a shame."

"Bought a bigger one. Sold that, bought a bigger one."

Chon laughed.

"How big are you going now?"

"1100", Nina said like it was a secret, a playful grin on her lips.

"That's pretty big", he nodded. "Look, I should get going. You have your hotels to go back to, and I have business I have to take care of."

"I know. Things to do, people to meet", she said with a fake smile that didn't quite hide her frustration. They stood up in silence and he followed Nina to the main lobby. She looked into his eyes and saw a brief glance of the grumpy, handsome boy she once fell in love with. The boy who once made her feel like she belonged.

"I'm thankful that that bastard OD'ed so that I could see you again."

"That's mean", she said, and he shrugged as that was the kind of remark people should expect from him. "But I'm kinda thankful too."

"I guess I'll see you around then."

"Sure, yeah."

He took a few steps back and turned around to leave. Nina stood there at the lobby and watched as the valet brought his Mustang; he jumped on it and sped away. It felt like a gap was closed now that they had met, but another huge one was open. Too many questions were left unanswered. She put a hand over her chest, as if she could make her heartbeats slow down.

"Mrs. Powell? Mrs. Powell?", a man called from behind her. It was the waiter from the breakfast, walking hurriedly towards Nina.

"What happened?"

"You forgot this", he said, handing her the card she had given to Chon. She couldn't help but be disappointed. He didn't even want that.

"Thanks", she sighed, flipping the card around and wondering whether he had forgotten it or left it.


End file.
